


Goodbye Innocence

by LaceKyoko1138



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Mild Spoilers of Crimson Flower Route, Minor Character Death, Sreng (Fire Emblem), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceKyoko1138/pseuds/LaceKyoko1138
Summary: Sylvain learns the hard way of what it means to be a Gautier with a Crest and faces the future with a hardened heart.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Goodbye Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, I guess it's Sad Sylvain Hours. I had this idea of exploring possible childhood trauma and the origin of why Sylvain goes down the path he does in Three Houses, why he's so hellbent on being callous and how he hides his pain through fake smiles and fabricated love. Even though my favored house is the Black Eagle House, and I prefer Crimson Flower over the other routes, I did find the Blue Lions characters fascinating. I also liked their growth the most surprisingly. I did not learn this until my second Azure Moon playthrough. I'm glad I gave them a second chance.
> 
> I'll be honest; the Sreng region made no sense to me, so I based it off the Gobi Desert in Mongolia, since it's said to be a "wasteland punctuated by patches of rocky desert" according to the Wiki, but it's a northern peninsula attached to Gautier territory so... a cold desert? That's a thing. I don't know; I sucked at World Geography. I like the idea of it being a tundra more, but I wanted to stick to canon as much as I could.
> 
> This is loosely based off the song _Goodbye Happiness_ by Hikaru Utada. Check it out on your favored music service; it's one of my favorites.
> 
> I really hope you all enjoy! I've been going through favorite characters in this game like a teenage boy goes through tissues, but I think my love for Sylvain will stay. ~~I may have gotten a tattoo of his Crest whoops~~

Sylvain liked the idea of gentleness, of hand holding, of warmth, of smiles and laughter. His brother was cruel and beat him, left him to die in the wilderness. His parents were cold and distant, only parading him around town like a prized dog, hoping to one day find the best bitch to breed him with.

All because of his Crest.

But this… This was something else. Sylvain didn’t always wander far away from his family home, especially after the incidents with Miklan. Something about how his family would be devastated to lose him, so he never had the courage to actually run away. But it was never _him_ , it was his Crest.

Without his Crest, he’d have no way to pass down the Gautier legacy. Sylvain was young, barely eight at the time, but he knew what his parents meant. He wasn’t stupid.

One day, he would marry a girl, and she would have a baby, and hopefully that baby had his Crest. If not, then she’d have another baby, and another, until a ‘legitimate’ heir was born. He was ten and it felt awful knowing his life was being planned before his eyes.

He had no say it seemed. When he tried to protest as he got older, saying he wanted to live his own life, married or not, his father pounded his fist against the old oak table where he had his tea, reading letters and papers regarding business, and told him that his childish dreams were merely that: dreams, flights of fancy that would never take to air. Sylvain bit his trembling lip, willing his tears away. His father hated it when he cried, not because it broke his heart, but because it made Sylvain weak. He swallowed his sorrow and apologized and went to his room where he’d have a proper cry. It was all he could do: wallow in his own hurt because no one else would care. No one else would come to him and soothe his worries, tell him he did have a choice. He was twelve and already misanthropic.

Sylvain met a girl and that was this present moment. She was Srengi, beautiful, caramel skin and ink black hair. Her smile was wide and her laugh like a pleasant breeze. She somehow crossed the border without being caught and ran into Sylvain when he took this short jaunt along the mountains, despite the past warnings in his youth of never to wander too far. She had been hiding in a nearby cave, hidden well enough that the soldiers patrolling the area hadn’t noticed it. Gautier territory was cold; likely, Sreng was colder. It was autumn and the leaves in Faerghus were turning colors. Sylvain did not know how seasons worked in Sreng.

Her name was Tuya and though her mastery of the Faerghusian language wasn’t perfect, she was able to explain it meant ‘ray of light’ and Sylvain liked that meaning very much. He explained his meant ‘of the forest’ and she thought that was interesting. She said that Sreng did not have forests, it had mountains and rocks and sand and little fresh water, but there were many animals that were good for hunting, and her people knew how to make the most of it. Sylvain thought it was sad they had to work so hard for food; Faerghus may not have had diversity in cuisine, but it was easy to obtain, especially for nobles.

Tuya came from a clan that roamed the border. Sometimes people disappeared, and many believed (or rather, knew) that it was the Gautier soldiers that took them. They were never heard from again, and it was assumed they were killed, perhaps worse. Sylvain couldn’t imagine what was worse than death. Tuya looked grim, but didn’t say anything.

She invited him into the cave and he saw her makeshift bed, how she dug into the permafrost and craggy earth to bury her waste. She had few rations left, but she did have a bow and knife and was able to hunt. She told him she was low on water and needed to leave soon.

“But where will you go?” Sylvain asked. Should she be caught…

“I will not be caught. I got this far. I am strong and I will not be taken.” He saw determination in her gaze, her jaw set. This was a girl who would fight to the death.

Sylvain never knew what fighting for one’s life was like. He trained, sure, most nobles did, but it was implied his life would never be at risk. His men and women would defend him; he just needed knowledge in case of someone breaching the front lines.

“How old are you?” he asked, looking her over. She was thin, did not have a womanly figure (yet), and her face was smooth. She looked vibrant, not grizzled.

“I am thirteen,” she said seriously, but looking at him confused. “Why does that matter?”

“You’re young! Can you really take on an adult?”

“I can fight. And I am good at sneaking around. Silent kills are the best kills; they ensure your survival.”

He grimaced at that. He was always taught about honor and fair fights. Sneaking up on someone was completely against his teachings.

“If you say so.” He wasn’t sure about that.

She had a curious look in her eye. “Sylvain, I think you can help me. There is a reason why we met.”

Sylvain didn’t believe in destiny. Destiny implied a greater force had something in store for him; his life was dictated by the mortal. No divine being was going to save him.

“How can I help?”

She gestured to her bed. “I am cold,” and he did notice the entire time she was shivering. “Sreng gets cold, but it can also be hot. At this time of year, it isn’t too bad. But Gautier is freezing to me right now, and I did not bring any warmer clothes.” She looked like she regretted that. “There was no time to better prepare. Could you please lie with me? I need body heat to get through the night. I will leave in the morning.”

Sylvain felt his body seize up. His muscles were frozen and he felt he couldn’t breathe. He had never lied close to someone before. He wasn’t sure if he ever cuddled with another person at all. His parents weren’t very affectionate and Miklan would sooner kill him than coddle him.

He needed an out. “You got this far. What’s one more night?”

She sighed. “I know I’m getting weaker. I can’t burn a fire tonight; soldiers wandered around because they thought they smelled smoke. They didn’t discover me, but I cannot burn a fire again.”

He looked nervous. “My parents don’t know I’m gone. If they notice, they will find me and that means they’d find you. I wouldn’t want to put you at risk.”

She looked sad at his words. “Then… Could you hold my hand? Just for a little. Then you can go.”

He nodded. “I can do that.”

She scooted closer to him and grasped his hand. He had flirted with Ingrid’s grandmother a few years ago because he was a little heartbreaker (so his mother said), and when he was introduced to girls at fancy galas, he said a few sweet nothings, but this was the first time he ever held a girl’s hand of his own volition. He had danced with those girls at those galas, but it was so forced, and if he tried to let his hands wander, he was usually rebuked and reprimanded by the adults. He had to be _proper_ , not the ladies’ man he thought he was.

This was nice. Very nice, and he liked that, even if this was for warmth or comfort or whatever, the idea of someone wanting him for him, and not for his Crest, was something he hadn’t experienced, well, ever.

They were quiet for a long time, squeezing their hands. Tuya started to sniffle.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sylvain asked, worried.

“My...my family was killed. That is why I’m here; I escaped and I need to get farther and farther away from here. I will never know their touch again.”

That’s why she wanted his body heat. To feel another living being, to pretend there was at least one other person that cared that still lived. Sylvain could be that person. He _would_ be that person.

“Fine. I’ll lie with you, but only for a little.”

She smiled, but tears still rolled down her cheeks. “Thank you.”

They lied together under the furs. She clung to him and he clutched her tighter. In this moment, he felt at peace. He felt like he had some control, like he could defy his elders and make his own choices.

They heard voices.

“My son is nearby. These are his boot prints.”

Sylvain’s heart beat in terror. If they found him, that meant they would find Tuya, and then she’d never escape. She’d disappear like so many of her people. She’d die like her family, or whatever the worse was.

He buried his face in her hair and breathed her scent. It was musky, definitely from not bathing in a while, but she was alive and he had to help her survive.

“Tuya, I want you to grab your things and hide as far into this cave as you can. I have to leave. They cannot find you. I won’t let them.”

“Okay,” she whispered and she quickly grabbed everything, threw some rocks over the makeshift fire pit and scurried deep into the cave. It would be dark, but she was a nomad. She’d be okay, right?

Sylvain waited until he heard the voices drift away. Somehow, they lost his trail of boot prints. The rocky territory was a blessing; dirt and grass may have betrayed him, but rocks could never leave an imprint.

He poked his head out of the cave, quickly surveyed his surroundings, and scampered as far as he could.

He only got so far though.

“Ah, there he is!” yelled out a soldier who seemed to be covering the rear of the search party. “Margrave Gautier, I found him!”

Sylvain’s blood ran cold. Adrenaline pumped through his body and he ran. He ran as far as he could. They could not notice the cave. They could not find Tuya. He had to protect her. He may not have had control over his own life, but he could at least make one choice to save another.

“Sylvain! Stop running!” his father yelled out. “Come back here, boy!”

Sylvain was spry but his endurance wasn’t that of a soldier’s, and he was soon grabbed by the collar. The Margrave had his son in his hand, his family’s relic, the Lance of Ruin, in another.

“Where the hell were you?!” Margrave Gautier demanded. “We thought Miklan took you again, but he said you were running away!”

“I...was not running away. I… just wanted to take a walk,” Sylvain grit out. He tried to pull out of his father’s grasp but the Margrave held on tight.

“Your clothes are wrinkled and you have bits of rock and dust on you. I see strands of fur too. Did you fall? Did someone hurt you?” He was quickly examined, face prodded, body poked. Sylvain suppressed his discomfort at the invasion of his boundaries.

“No, I’m fine. Just slipped a little but I’m not injured.” _Please walk away, please walk away, please just take me home so you don’t find Tuya…_

The Goddess must have had a sick sense of humor, because the small cave had been found. “Milord! There is a break in the mountain here! Looks like someone made camp!”

The Margrave released Sylvain and stalked over. He indeed inspected the ground and saw the rocks that covered the old fire pit. “Someone was here...” He turned to his son. “Did you see anyone?”

Sylvain shook his head, scoffing, trying to play it cool. “Of course not. Who would even be there?”

“A Srengi fugitive, that’s who,” his father said darkly. He turned to the soldiers. “Search that cave. We can’t risk any invaders escaping.”

Sylvain wanted to cry. He truly did. He had to be strong. He had to demand his father stop this nonsense. “Father, I told you no one was there!”

But the more he protested, the more sure his father was. “Don’t lie, Sylvain.”

And then… A soldier dragged out Tuya by her braids. “We found one, sire! A little Srengi bitch.”

The soldiers snickered and the Margrave looked pleased. “Good work.” He turned to his son. “How dare you lie to me, Sylvain.”

Sylvain shook his head. “Let her go, Father. She’s done nothing wrong. Let her go home.”

His father laughed, something dark and unsettling. “Srengi have no homes. They wander and wander like beasts, waiting to invade and destroy our land. They are warriors through and through, but they will never match our strength.” He looked at Sylvain, disappointment in his eyes. “We taught you better, Sylvain. You have a Crest, something that makes you stronger than any vile Srengi. You have put us all at risk. Should this girl escape, she will only bring back more of her monstrous people and they will pay for their treachery.” He handed the dagger he kept on his person to Sylvain. His other hand tightened around the relic. “You cannot wield our lance yet, but you can wield this dagger. You made the choice to defend her. You must also make the choice to end her life.”

So now he had a choice? Now he had control over something? Everyone else said they knew what was best for him. Murdering this innocent girl...was his first actual choice?

He had one other option.

“I can’t, Father. This isn’t right.”

“You are a Gautier. When you succeed me, this will be your responsibility. You must learn this now, son. Do your duty.” He grabbed Sylvain’s hand and forced his son to hold it.

Sylvain stared at the dagger. Gleaming silver, black hilt etched with golden writing with the Gautier mantra: _Oderint dum metuant._

_Let them hate so long as they fear._

It symbolized what the Gautiers’ duty was: to instill fear in the Srengi people, to overpower them no matter how they fought back. The Gautiers would always win.

Sylvain swallowed. He really was about to do this.

He stepped towards Tuya, and she screamed in Srengi. He expected her to beg for her life, but her words held much vitriol. He knew she was cursing him, that he was a traitor, no better than his family and other Faerghus trash. He didn’t know any of her language, but he felt it in his soul.

He looked down at her, the soldier still holding her by her hair. He bit his lip.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he swung.

The soldier howled in pain. He let Tuya go as he grabbed at the wound Sylvain inflicted on his hand and Tuya took the momentary confusion to escape.

She was spry and quick but Margrave Gautier was faster. Without any hesitation, he speared Tuya through. Sylvain heard her cry out the worst choking sound he ever heard, watching as blood gushed from her mouth. Her hands touched the blade that was protruding through her stomach, but her knees grew weak and she fell. Margrave Gautier pulled the relic free and it made an awful squelching noise as carnage and gore spilled out. Sylvain felt his own legs grow weak and he collapsed, kneeling on the ground as he felt the world around him shatter. He had never witnessed someone dying before.

The Margrave spat on her body and returned to his son, pulling him upright, turning him around and he slapped him across the face. Sylvain was rarely, if ever, slapped by his parents, but he had also never done anything this bad, this disgraceful to his family name.

“You are as much of a disappointment as your brother, but you have a Crest, and you will learn. Do not ever show kindness to a Srengi again.” His father let him go, and Sylvain fell to the ground. He was in shock. He couldn’t breathe nor cry. No matter what...he still didn’t have a choice. Kill her himself, or try to save her only for her to die anyway. What sort of choice was that?

He eventually stood up and looked at her fallen body, so still and lifeless.

“Destroy the body,” the Margrave said. “Burn it, bury it, throw it back in that cave. Just don’t let any of her people see it. We do not need retaliation.”

Sylvain felt himself choke, his throat tightening in disgust. “Father… That’s...”

“That is the fate of anyone who defies a Gautier. You will learn in time that this is all they’re good for: worm food.” He grabbed Sylvain by the arm. “We are going home and you will be properly taught on how to handle this sort of situation, should it happen again.” He glared. “You are not to leave the house until you understand this.”

“Yes, Father,” Sylvain said solemnly. He was dragged away from the scene of carnage, wondering what would happen to her body. He wished he could have given her a proper burial.

He wished he had never met her.

Sylvain knew that his family were the bringers of death for the Srengi. His family’s relic was the Lance of Ruin, and all it would bring him was ruin. His life was in ruins, and so was his heart. If he had never gone on this ill-fated walk, had ne never met Tuya, he would not know of her inevitable death. He would not have known her warmth. He would not have known of her strength.

She was just another blood drop on the pages of Gautier history, wiped away, forever forgotten.

As Sylvain was led home, his father giving him an earful, he vowed he’d hide away his heart. He would no longer care about the feelings of others, except for his friends. They were nobles, so they too faced similar fates: slaves to their Crests. They may have teased him about the time he flirted with Ingrid’s grandmother, or that time he thought a scarecrow was a pretty girl, and they said he didn’t take anything seriously, that all he did was play games, but what else was he to do when his life was only going to end in misery? He might as well enjoy whatever he could. He would learn to lie and pretend everything was alright, when it wasn’t, but no one cared, the Crest system was too coveted, and he would only fall further into his own misery.

Nothing was sacred. In two years’ time, he’d see his best friend Felix mourn over the death of his brother and break away from his father. He would see Dimitri lose himself to survivor’s guilt. He would see Ingrid wail over her fiance’s death, that same fiance being Felix’s brother.

In six years’ time he’d be enrolled at the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery, where he’d learn his family was working on betrothal contracts and dowries, so his philandering ways could only be worse. He would play around as much as he could with girls. His parents weren’t there to supervise him, so he’d lose himself in some girl’s bed, break her heart, but he’d do so, willingly, and convince himself that he was in the right. He was handsome and rich and he had a Crest, and that was all anyone cared about. He’d repeat the cycle the next day, with some other girl, only to be scolded by a Professor who would change the course of history. He’d be reprimanded by his friends for still playing around, he’d sneak out to taverns because no one was going to refuse a noble, and he’d laugh and get drunk and pretend that he wasn’t miserable, that he didn’t want to die. He would defend his actions, lost in his own lies, and say anything to deter that same professor who seemed bent on correcting his bad behavior. They didn’t even know about their Crest, they were blessed to be ignorant because they could live whatever life they wanted. He would hate them for that. Everyone else was being controlled; why weren’t they?

He’d end up joining Edelgard’s cause because if ever there was an opportunity to change his circumstances, that would be it. He would learn to apologize as the war continued in their favor, because for once, he saw hope.

They’d win the war and he would burn away the history of the Gautiers, forging a new one where he would unite the Srengi, with a wife of his own choice by his side.

His innocence would forever be lost, but one day, Sylvain would know happiness.


End file.
